


Sentimentality

by orphan_account



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, Leviathan - Freeform, Red Room
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 04:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4248978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie knew she wasn’t the best shot out of all the girls Leviathan trained, nor the best at hand to hand combat. She had one of the smallest frames and unlike some other Leviathan graduates, she failed to be physically intimidating. However, she had proven her worth by mastering any persona given to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentimentality

**Author's Note:**

> An AU in which Angie Martinelli was a spy sent by Leviathan

Failure would not be tolerated. It only took her one mistake  to learn that lesson. In a moment of weakness, she’d been unable to kill her target – a small child of only six, the son of a West German politician. She was always more prone to sentimentality than the other girls, but when she returned to her handler with a full chamber, she was reminded why she could not falter. Two months later, when she could stand, albeit barely, she was given a second chance to prove her worth. Leviathan called it merciful.

Angela Martinelli. An aspiring actress working as a waitress in a restaurant near the SSR headquarters. Bubbly, innocent, talkative. The type of girl who would collapse on her best friend’s bed and talk for hours about the charming smile of Mr. Hollywood, who didn’t know how much liquor she could hold and ended up falling asleep in the wrong room. 

The type of girl Agent Margaret Carter would trust.

Leviathan secured her a room at the Griffith several months before she was ordered to make contact with Agent Carter. She did not need nearly so much time to master her new persona, Angie, but Leviathan was unwilling to take chances. Angie didn’t complain, despite her frustrations at the Italian woman’s menial life. The bruises covering her body needed time to heal.

By the time Carter finally walked into the automat, Angie was fully integrated into her new life. She knew all the girls at the Griffith by name, many of whom could be considered friends. Waitressing was not a skill she’d been taught in training, but it was hardly a challenge. Flirtatious smiles were enough to keep her popular with the male customers and her willingness to take on extra shifts made her quick friends with the other waitresses. Every Sunday she kept up the appearance of a loving, Catholic daughter by taking the train to the Bronx for ‘Mass and family dinner.’ The reality of the situation involved more bullets and blood, but she was in no danger of being found out.

Convincing the agent to move into the Griffith proved somewhat of a struggle. The woman was too noble-minded for Angie’s tastes, always coming up with some excuse as to why she couldn’t move in. Even when she finally moved into the apartment, she refused to spend any great deal of time with Angie. How she was fooling anyone with the ‘phone company’, Angie couldn’t understand, and she found herself doubting whether Leviathan’s opinion of her as a threat was completely accurate.

Their assessment of Carter became even more difficult to understand on the evening Peggy knocked on her door drunk. It was out of character for her, but Angie let her in with a sympathetic smile.

“I’m sorry for this,” Carter mumbled, slouching into chair. Angie noted the red smudge on the collar of her blouse, most likely blood. She determined it wasn’t the sort of thing Angie would notice and quickly dismissed the piece of information. 

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Carter hiccuped before she spoke. “I lost my keys.”

Angie wouldn’t roll her eyes at the agent’s unprofessional behavior, so instead she chuckled lightly and motioned towards the bathroom. “Go clean yourself up, English. You can sleep here tonight.”

“Really?” Carter asked with wide eyes.

“Course,” Angie said warmly, careful not to eye the outline of Carter’s gun. She flopped on her own bed dramatically once Carter entered the bathroom, staring up at the ceiling as she ran over the details of her mission in her head – observe her behavior, track her routine, and recover any items of value or interest she may possess. Further instruction would come later. The very idea of Peggy Carter having a routine was almost laughable. The woman came in and out of the Griffith at random hours and the days she visited the automat were sporadic and infrequent. 

“You’d never believe the day I had,” Angie groaned. It would be uncharacteristic of her persona to be quiet for so long. “There was this guy who thought it’d be real romantic to slap me on the ass after I gave him his meal. Can you believe that?”

That much was true. Working part time at the automat had been her handler’s idea, as a way of establishing initial contact with Agent Carter. The term ‘American pigs’ made a great deal of sense after her first week. When the man had slapped her, she’d almost broken his hand.

“Men are jerks,” Peggy grumbled from the bathroom. 

“Yeah, well, hopefully Broadway’ll be callin’ any day now and take me away from all this.”

Dreams and aspirations, that was what made a real person. Angie knew she wasn’t the best shot out of all the girls Leviathan trained, nor the best at hand to hand combat. She had one of the smallest frames and unlike some other Leviathan graduates, she failed to be physically intimidating. However, she had proven her worth by mastering any persona given to her. Every mission, Angie was able to pull on another face flawlessly – Maria, Rose, Anja, Jean. All of names she bore came so easily to her.

“I’m sure,” Carter yawned. She stumbled out of the bathroom and collapsed on the bed next to Angie, eyes fluttering closed. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

Angie brushed a strand of hair out of Carter’s eyes, almost affectionately. “Us girls gotta stick together.”

A moment later and the agent was snoring lightly, the alcohol finally luring her into sleep. Angie nudged her gently to make sure she was truly asleep and then lifted herself out of bed, careful not to move the mattress so as to not wake up Carter up. Before she walked out of the room, she spared her bed frame a brief glance. When she allowed the agent into her room, she’d completely forgotten about the handcuffs marks left on the frame, and while Carter hadn’t noticed in her inebriated state, there was no guarantee she would be so oblivious in the morning. She would need to fix that before Carter woke up.

Angie retrieved her purse before exiting the room and making her way towards 3E. None of the other girls were awake, but she made quick work of Carter’s lock on the offhand chance one of them stumbled into the hallway on their way to the kitchen for a midnight snack.

Once inside the apartment, Angie shut the door and started searching for anything that might be of interest to her mission. False drawers, she’d learned, were the most common method of concealing items. She found nothing in the vanity, unfortunately, or at least nothing that drew her attention. The lipstick was nice, she thought, but an inferior brand to the one Leviathan provided her with. She did smile briefly at the pun before moving to the dresser.

Everything was arranged so neatly, although Angie expected nothing less from a military woman. The first two drawers held nothing besides clothing, which Angie found herself lingering over for an unnecessary length of time. Clothing that Peggy Carter owned, that she had chosen for herself. Not handed to her on her way to the next mission.

It was in the third drawer that she found a false bottom. No objects from Stark, which was what she had been hoping for, but there were several documents and photos, the contents of which she’d have the opportunity to analyze later. Angie flipped through them quickly, determining which would be safe to leave behind, and was surprised to find a photo of a young, sickly man – pre-serum Steve Rogers. Angie knew that the two had been close during in the war, but figured the flame would have started after his transformation. There was no point to the photograph so far as Angie could tell, besides personal attachment. 

It made Agent Carter human. Angie refused to think of her targets by their first names – it made her grow attached to them. The instructors had always warned her she was too sentimental and had almost held her back from graduation due to it. But the price of not ‘graduating’ was death, a proper motivator to push aside any warmth.

Angie traced the outline of Captain Roger’s face with her thumb, wondering how deeply Peggy’s – Carter’s  affections ran for him. Love was an unneeded complexity, but the subject remained one of odd fascination. Did Rogers love Carter back? Men, as far as Angie knew, were primarily interested in sex, but she’d always heard Captain America was unique. Perhaps he was in that way, too.

A knock on the door pulled Angie out of her thoughts. She cussed silently as she shoved the documents back in the drawer and closed it quietly.

“Miss Carter?” Miriam Fry’s voice hissed.

Angie threw back the covers and jumped into the bed. The door was unlocked and if the landlady had the bright idea of opening it to check and see if Carter had made it before curfew, finding the bed occupied might make her leave faster. Mrs. Fry knocked again on the door and Angie faked a soft snore to reassure her that the room was occupied. It would be a hassle for Carter to be thrown out so soon after arriving at the Griffith.

Mrs. Fry muttered something on the other side of the room, but the retreating footsteps reassured Angie it was safe. She remade the bed swiftly, military style, like the way she found it, and put the drawer back in order. Angie hesitated briefly with the stack of documents, eyes flickering over Captain Roger’s photo again. 

_“That sentimentality of yours will be get you killed.”_

Angie closed her eyes, remembering the last time she succumbed to her weakness. The scars on her back still ached when she thought about what Leviathan was capable of. She would not survive it a second time.

Inhaling sharply, she tucked the papers into her purse and placed the false bottom back in place. Angie rearranged the linens the same way she had found them and retreated back into the hallway, locking the door behind her.

In her own room, she set her purse on the table, closed and on its side like how she had left it, and grabbed a scarf from her closet. She tied it around the bedpost where the handcuffs had scratched the wood, careful not to wake Agent Carter. When it was securely in place, Angie lay down stiffly on the mattress, fully aware that she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Instead, she brought the photo of the scrawny Captain Rogers back to mind. She wondered if Peggy Carter thought of sentimentality as a weakness.

 


End file.
